He's Got a Secret
by Aaron Cronin
Summary: Nobody on Serenity knew much about Jayne's life before he came on board.  And Jayne preferred it that way.  But secrets, no matter how well hidden, have a tendency to come out ...
1. Chapter 1

He's Got a Secret

Day 1 – Damage

Disclaimer: _Firefly_, the _Serenity_, and all characters included herein (with one exception) are properties of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy Productions, Fox Television and/or Nathan Fillion (not sure where ownership lies at present). I'm not getting any money for writing this; I'm just happy Whedon, Fillion and friends gave me such a nice toy box to play with. So please, no lawyers – I don't want to deal with them any more than Mal Reynolds would. (As for the one exception … he is available for other fanfics, if you need a pilot with a nearly incomprehensible accent.)

Author's notes: this takes place after the BDM and the comics ... say, six months to a year after the last one. It has no connection whatsoever to my previous _Firefly_ story, "The Wisdom of Kaylee."

* * *

><p>"Soymon, thurr's a call fer ya from yer lassie," sounded the speaker in the galley.<p>

Simon smiled. Oliver Quine, the new pilot of _Serenity_ (replacing the late and much lamented Hoban Washburne), had an Irish – specifically, Ulster – accent that was as thick as oxtail soup. Simon could make out what he was saying, though … most of the time. "I'm on my way." He put away the bowl of various proteins he was mixing in an attempt to make something that would taste like potato salad, and headed for the bridge.

As he walked through the corridors, he reflected on the strange turns his life had taken. Three years ago, he'd been starting off in medical practice, much to the beaming pride of his parents, prepared to make a ridiculous amount of credits and wondering how his sister was doing in the special Alliance school (he thought) she was attending. Now … now he and River were fugitives from "justice" after he broke her out of the military hospital where they were trying to turn her into a super-soldier (and maybe succeeded). He'd basically been disowned by his father. And he was serving as sawbones to as ragtag a bunch of fly-by-night traders/smugglers/semi-outlaws as ever romped around the Outer Planets, on a ship that always seemed like it was one bad malfunction away from falling right out of orbit.

And, when he was honest with himself, he'd admit he was having the time of his life. His new compatriots were smart and fun-loving, in an earthy, sometimes brutal sort of way. There was plenty of adventure, enough that the crew always had need of his skills. He was learning about life in a way he'd never could've before, sheltered in the protective cocoon of his upper-caste Alliance upbringing. River was in a (comparatively) safe place, learning to use all the gifts that had been nefariously given her. And he'd met Kaylee – _Serenity_'s shade-tree mechanic, and a woman who put all those pampered, powdered Alliance girls he grew up around to shame.

All in all, his personal ledger was in the black. If only the food on the old tub was better, he might never want to leave …

He entered the bridge. Oliver, a squat fellow with bright red hair cut down to a burr, nodded in greeting and turned back to the console. "Kaylee lass, yer man's here. Foire away."

"Simon?" Kaylee's voice crackled over the speaker.

"Right here, darling." Kaylee liked being called "darling" – along with "honey," "sweetie" and every other endearment he could come up with. They always felt artificial to him, but if she enjoyed them, that was reason enough ...

"Heading back to the ship on the mule. You need to get the sick bay ready – we got work for ya."

"Oh no, what happened? Did the robbers catch any of you?" _Serenity_ had been contacted the previous day with an unusual job. It seemed the little bank in New Topeka, on New Kansas (snappy nomenclature there) had been robbed twice in the last three months by a group of heavily armed toughs, and the local sheriff's miniscule force had been outgunned both times. There was reason to believe the thugs would make another strike this afternoon (it was a major market day), so the sheriff – having heard that a vessel of resourceful traders, also well-armed, was in the area – hired Mal and whoever Mal could bring to supplement the forces on his side. They'd agreed on a percentage of the stolen goods if such could be recovered, and a flat fee if it couldn't. The upshot was that Mal, Zoe, Jayne, Inara and Kaylee had staked out the bank in various disguises, while Oliver held down the fort and Simon and River (still wanted by the authorities) stayed out of sight.

"Oh, no – _we_ caught _them_! All of them as showed up, anyway. Didn't take five minutes from when they arrived, and they were all in chains. Captain and Zoe are helping the sheriff interrogate 'em right now to find out where they hid the loot."

Simon let out a breath. "I'm glad you're all right!" Meaning "you" in the singular – Kaylee – as much as in the plural.

"Well … most of us are …" Kaylee trailed off – and then started giggling.

Simon's brow furrowed. "Kaylee, what's going on? What do you mean?"

He could hear someone – Jayne, maybe – grumbling in the background as Kaylee tried to compose herself. "See … one of the bad guys tried to run for it … and Inara tripped him, and his rifle … but Jayne was looking the other way, dealing with another one of 'em, and …" She began to giggle again.

"Kaylee – what happened?"

"Jayne … Jayne got a butt full of buckshot!" Then Simon heard her collapse in laughter, and Jayne roar, "JUST GET ME BACK TO THE _GORRAM_ SHIP!"

* * *

><p>Five minutes later, the mule skidded up the gangway of <em>Serenity<em> – Inara driving, Kaylee riding shotgun, and Jayne flat on his stomach across the back seats. Simon, having dispatched River to get the sick bay in order (among her many other skills, she was becoming a passable nurse), was waiting for them as they stopped, a bolus of anesthetic at the ready. Before anything else, he injected the solution directly into Jayne's exposed – and perforated – right bum.

Jayne was less than grateful. "_Liu-mang_! You could at least warn a guy first!"

Over the previous months, Simon had figured out how to deal with Jayne when he was like this. "You're welcome. Can you walk?"

"Hrrrmm … think so," Jayne grunted as Inara helped him down from the mule. He took a few tentative steps, and while his limp was pronounced, he could still get around.

Simon, in the meantime, had gotten a good look at the two women. Kaylee was always a sight for sore eyes – especially in that pink dress, the one she'd bought on Persephone a couple of years ago. Inara, however – judging by her skin and clothes – looked like she'd been dragged through a mud wallow by a particularly energetic pack animal. "Inara, are you all right?"

"Me? I'm fine – it's just Jayne who …" Suddenly she caught on. "Oh, you mean this? I was just impersonating a beggar."

The thought amused Simon, for obvious reasons. "_You_ were pretending to be a beggar?"

Inara smiled. "I know, I know. But we needed someone outside acting as lookout, someone who could look inconspicuous and handle a gun. Zoe didn't want to, and Kaylee …"

"You know I ain't so good with weapons," Kaylee finished with a shrug.

"So Mal and Kaylee pretended to be a local couple, Zoe was a rich planter from out of town, Jayne was a sleeping bank guard, and I –" Inara gestured at her clothes. "– got to play against type. But I am very much looking forward to a nice hot bath. And Jayne, I am truly sorry …"

"It was an accident, I know," Jayne grumbled, still limping around. "Ain't the worst wound I've had."

"But still, we need to get all that metal out of …" Simon almost mentioned the location, but caught himself; he didn't want to send Kaylee into another giggling fit. Not right now, anyway. "… of there. Let's go down to the sick bay."

"Right behind ya … oh, _bizui_, woman!" Jayne finished, as apparently the word "behind" – coupled with his current exposure of the same – had been enough to set Kaylee off again.

* * *

><p>Sure enough, River had taken care of setting up the sick bay with everything Simon could possibly need to remove (by his visual estimate) about forty balls of buckshot from Jayne's keister: gloves, topical anesthetic, antiseptic, forceps, a pan to hold the removed shot, a scalpel, skin-suturing gel, a metal-detection scanner, plenty of sponges and gauze, medical adhesive, and a hypo of lead-poisoning antidote. If anything, it was overkill; in a pinch Simon could probably have done the job with just the antiseptic, the gauze and a potato knife. But nurses-in-training tended to take the "better safe than sorry" route, he knew … "Okay, Jayne, just drop your trousers, bend over the bed and we'll see about getting all that lead out."<p>

If he didn't know any better, he'd have thought Jayne had suddenly become nervous. "Um … bend … over?"

"Yes. Come on – the more time you waste, the more risk there is of lead seeping into your bloodstream."

"But … can, uh …" No doubt about it, he was definitely nervous. "… can'tcha just take 'em out while I'm … y'know, standin' up?"

"No, Jayne, I can't. Now don't worry – I'm a doctor, and I've seen lots of _pi-gu_ in my time. Yours won't shock me, I promise."

Jayne mumbled something that Simon couldn't make out. He took a deep breath, glanced warily back at Simon, then in a single movement undid his belt, whipped down what was left of his pants and boxers and bent over the bed. He stared at the floor, his whole body tense, his knuckles white as he gripped the other side. River picked up the disposal pan and stood on the opposite side of the bed from Simon.

Simon went to work, spraying antiseptic on the wounds and making sure everything else was safely within his reach but not Jayne's – the patient, he'd learned from previous operations, had a tendency to lash out. "If anything, if you're going to get shot, that is the best place to be hit. Lots of muscle in the area, and no major organs."

"I can think of some major organs not too far away," Jayne replied, the sarcasm still clear despite his gritted teeth.

"They're not on this side, though," Simon riposted. He removed the first piece of lead, and dropped it into the pan River was holding with a _clank_. "Look, you can relax …," he added as he got a hold of the next piece.

There was a strange quaver in Jayne's voice that Simon hadn't heard before. "Yeah, yeah, just get it done, all right?"

So that's what Simon did for the next few minutes. Pretty soon there was a collection of about twenty pellets in the pan, and Simon was having to pause here and there to mop up the blood that was weeping from the small punctures. Yes, he'd definitely need to use the anti-lead-poisoning medication. He reached for the hypo. "Okay, this might sting a little …"

"It already stings a little – what's the diffAA_AIYAAA_, _TIAN XIAO-DE_! THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?"

Simon was just thankful that Jayne was still gripping the bed, as it had kept him from flinging his arms around and accidentally hitting something – or someone. But the way the man's voice had risen over an octave was alarming enough.

"Jayne, it's okay." River was bending down near Jayne, almost whispering in his ear.

"Hell it's okay!" Jayne's voice was high and tight with … panic? He sounded, Simon realized, like he was about to burst into tears. But what was the likelihood of _that_ …

River was still talking softly. "He's not going to hurt you. You're safe here. What happened then isn't going to happen now …"

Jayne bolted upright, almost knocking the forceps from Simon's hand. He roared, then began yelling at River. "WITCH-GIRL, GET OUT OF MY HEAD! I DON'T WANT YOU MESSING AROUND IN MY MIND, YOU … YOU _EMO-FU_!"

"Jayne …"

"WHAT?" he bellowed – and then suddenly realized that the doctor was holding a scalpel at his neck.

"I'm trying to do the best I can to patch you up. I think the least you could do is to not refer to my sister as a demon." Simon's voice was as cold as the point of the steel blade against his carotid artery. "Do you think you can manage that?"

Jayne glanced at River (who, surprisingly, hadn't moved an inch or changed her expression during the whole outburst), then down again. When he spoke, his voice sounded weary, but otherwise normal. "Yeah. Yeah, I can. Let's just … get this over with." He waited until Simon had removed the blade, then bent over the bed again and resumed his death grip on the opposite edge.

Simon shrugged. It was probably as close to an apology as he was likely to hear. He put the scalpel down and picked up the forceps again. "Believe me, Jayne, I want that as much as you do." A flick of the forceps, and another pellet clattered into the bowl. _Clank!_


	2. Chapter 2

He's Got a Secret

Day 2 – Scars

_(Author's note: the poem River senses Oliver reading is "After Apple-Picking" by Robert Frost.)_

To the majority of _Serenity_'s crew, the ship was primarily that – a ship. Each of them held closer to a different facet of it, of course – whether as a method of conveyance, or a way of doing business, or a strange metal beast to be cared for and chivvied along, or a thing to do and place to be until the next thing or place came along.

To River Tam, though, _Serenity_ was home, and family, and life.

Most of the others had parents or siblings elsewhere who worried about them and got occasional visits, who sent and received messages and care packages. With the possible exception of Captain Reynolds, they had some planet they could return to if – God forbid – _Serenity_ was lost to them. But River knew, from talking to Simon, from the things Simon wouldn't say but couldn't help thinking about, that she didn't have such options. They'd been cut off from family by their father's intransigence, by Simon's stubbornness, and by how those two immovable objects had clashed when it came to her, to her fate. Still, if they were all separated, Simon could probably blend in someplace, become just one of the multitude.

Provided, of course, his little sister wasn't with him.

Thanks to what the Alliance's scientists had done to her, though, blending in would never be an option River had. She was too fast, too strong, too smart, too deadly, too _gorram_ strange to ever be just a face in the crowd. Plus, there was the whole "wanted by the Alliance" thing. And so, for the foreseeable future at least, the refuge of _Serenity_ was the only place she could really be. She was as bound to the rickety ship as a figurehead to a sailing vessel of old.

But, she mused as she got up and went to the galley to prepare breakfast for the crew – one of her chores that day – it wasn't so bad. Compared to the Alliance "school," it was almost paradisiacal.

Here she had things to do that were either terribly exciting or so boringly normal she could manage them half-asleep – none of the hidden traps (emotional as well as physical) that she'd sensed at every moment of her time at the school or the hospital. She had people who knew her and her troubles, and were understanding about them, around whom she could let down her guard a little. Her older brother, with whom she'd long been closer to than her distant dad or self-effacing mom, was still with her to keep her safe. Kaylee was around to play games with, and Oliver to borrow jokes and books from, and Inara to model the ways of a lady, and Zoe as an example of how to tough out tough times. Captain Reynolds always kept an eye out for her, like she was the daughter he'd never had (or, closer to the mark, the surrogate for the daughter he hadn't _yet_ had). And Jayne …

… well, Jayne … that was a little more complicated.

As she brought out the pans and bowls and canisters of protein, she let the crew's early-morning thoughts drift through her head. The telepathy the Alliance witch-doctors had saddled her with had been one of the most difficult aspects of her changed nature to get used to. But familiarity had brought a certain peace. Strangers' minds could still make her wince, but she was so used to the _Serenity_ crew that sometimes she didn't even notice their silent "voices."

When she did notice, she always picked up Simon's first. And right now, he was … oh. More like _they were_. She'd gotten past the point of feeling uncomfortable at being privy to Simon and Kaylee's thoughts at times like this – after all, it's not like she had a choice, or was playing voyeur out of some prurient interest. If anything, she was just glad that her big brother and her new best friend were so happy together. But she also noticed the residue of Simon's shock at having held Jayne at scalpel point the previous day, his worry at being so potentially violent and "unprofessional." And in the back of Kaylee's mind was always the question of why Simon never called her "pretty" – a question that one of these days, she'd need to ask, and Simon would need to answer …

Zoe was up on the bridge, as she had been for hours – the old soldier, soldiering on through the night watch. And not just with the duties of the ship, either. She was still grieving the loss of her charming, exasperating husband to accident on Miranda … and the loss of their baby to a miscarriage not long after. But she never let the pain show; she'd suppressed it so far that River might feel it more strongly than she did at this point.

Captain Reynolds … no sign of him. He was probably still out with the posse sent to bring back all the plunder the gang of robbers had stolen (or, at least, what was left of the plunder) – hopefully there would be no complications. Inara was still asleep, having been up half the night convincing herself she wasn't worrying about the captain; right now she was dreaming about Siamese cats … talking ones. And Oliver was enjoying some morning reading … oh, she knew this one! "My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree/Toward heaven still …" He'd loaned her that volume a few months before, and she'd loved the short, homey poems about roads in woods, blue skies and butterflies and snowfalls in empty places.

And then there was Jayne … poor Jayne. He was still dwelling on what he'd been through, what she knew about it, and who she might tell …

Deep down, part of Jayne Cobb was still scared spitless of her. Which made sense – she was unpredictable, something he couldn't account for, and he liked stability. Besides, she was less than half his size, yet had already demonstrated she could knock him cold. But his outburst the previous day, the one about her being a demon-woman, had been the first in months. He no longer talked about putting her out the airlock or turning her over to the Alliance for the reward money. And in return, she didn't stab him in the leg, and Captain Reynolds didn't put _him_ out the airlock. It was progress.

And increasingly, relations between them had become less tense. Sometimes he could be downright friendly, or jocular, or … well, there were clearly some moments when he wanted to be more than friendly. Just as there were some where she wanted him to. But he'd shown admirable restraint, in deference to her age (still only seventeen) and her brother's position (guy who sewed him up after getting shot in the _pigu_ or elsewhere). The future showed promise … provided she didn't keep screwing things up like she had yesterday.

That was the other problem with telepathy: besides the constant noise in your head, you ended up stuck with everyone else's secrets. Here she was, just a teenager, and she knew every crime her crewmates had committed, every embarrassment they'd ever experienced, every word they wished they had or hadn't said. She knew what was behind Oliver's ambivalence about the Alliance, and why Zoe preferred not to cook meals, and who had taught Mal how to tell someone was cheating at cards, and how Inara had lost her virginity (actually, that story was hilarious; she wished the Companion would tell it sometime, as it would do a lot to humanize the crew's view of her …). And now, after yesterday's little incident in sick bay, she knew what Jayne didn't want known about him, and how it affected so much of his life.

And when she had seen it, she did what she thought any good nurse – or friend – would do, and tried to comfort him. Only it hadn't worked. At all.

In retrospect, she probably shouldn't have said anything. By speaking, she'd not only demonstrated to Jayne that she knew (bad enough), but accidentally rubbed his nose in it. And furthermore, from Jayne's point of view she'd given hints that might clue in Simon, which would take the shame to a new level. She'd been foolish, she realized now – or perhaps "naïve" was the better term. The only way Simon had been able to settle Jayne down was by …

… by pulling a knife on him. Because Jayne didn't go for subtlety and softness. A sharp blade, he understood.

Hmmm. Maybe that was the way to approach things – head-on. Jayne always seemed to appreciate a show of force, a simple and straightforward interaction. The next time he got angry, she could always get angry back, show him he wasn't the only one who could make noise. As long as he didn't pull a gun, she had no reason to be physically afraid of him. Maybe it would help.

Of course, doing it without hinting at his secret would be tricky …

She soon had ample opportunity to try out her hypothesis. Simon wanted Jayne back in the sick bay that afternoon to check the dressings on his wound – well, collection of wounds – and make sure there was no infection. Jayne, naturally, wasn't interested. He also wasn't given a choice; Zoe, in charge until Captain Reynolds returned, told him point-blank that she didn't want to see his face until the doctor was finished, and that was that.

"Okay, any unusual pain in the affected area?" Simon asked.

"Not _unusual_ pain," Jayne drawled. "'Bout what you'd expect, I guess …"

"Any seepage?"

Jayne's brow furrowed. "Seepage?"

"Any liquid coming out from under the bandages?"

"Oh. Nah, none of that."

"That's a good sign. Okay, same as yesterday –"

WHAM! That was all it had taken to trigger the memories in Jayne's mind. River took a deep breath.

"– drop your trousers, bend over and I'll make sure everything is all right."

"Uh …" Jayne was groping about in his mind for a way to stall. His eyes lit on River. "… does _she_ have to be in here?"

Simon hesitated for a moment. River could sense the thoughts he was weighing in his mind: the tension of yesterday's events, versus the negative possibilities of being alone in sick bay with an unwilling (and much stronger) patient. Quietness, or safety? Safety won. "Yes, she does."

Deep in his throat, Jayne growled in frustration. He was still looking at River. "Fine. But I don't want you poking around in my head."

Inspiration struck. "I don't poke in your head," she responded sharply.

Jayne's look turned into a glare. "Hell you don't."

"River …," Simon, alarmed, tried to intervene.

River waved him off, and took a step toward Jayne, up to the opposite edge of the sick bay bed. "I've _never_ poked around in your head."

Jayne leaned over now, but only to get in River's face. One fist bunched at his side. "_Chui-niu_! You liar! You –"

River closed the gap between their noses to about an inch, and cut him off, her voice going up to maximum. "I'M NOT IN YOUR HEAD! YOU'RE IN MINE!"

Jayne froze, stunned. Which, truth be told, was just the effect she'd hoped for. "What?" he squawked.

"You heard me! I don't go looking for your thoughts. You broadcast them out all over the _gorram_ place! And I'm stuck having to listen to them! Every time you want me to shut up, every time you wish I'd go away, every time you think about having sex with me, I have to hear it, whether I want to or not!" 

Simon jumped in. "Wait. You think about having sex with my sister?"

River, not moving, answered before Jayne could. "Almost every male thinks about it, about almost every female. It's basic evolutionary strategy. Doesn't mean anything."

"But …" A suddenly subdued Jayne was still trying to understand what River had said.

"_But_," River interjected, "just because I know what you're thinking doesn't mean I want to! And it doesn't mean I'm going to tell anyone. I _don't_ gossip – not about you, not about anybody. So don't get _kuang_ on me. _Dong ma_?"

A few seconds of verbal silence, though not mental – no one's mind actually stops working short of clinical death. Finally, Jayne answered. "Got it."

River knew, however, that for Jayne's sake – and maybe her brother's physical health – she couldn't let up on the pressure yet. "Now, the doctor needs to check your _pigu_ to make sure it's healing right. So do what he says." Then, quieter but with more emphasis: "You're a grown man. Act like it."

Jayne's face froze at that. But eventually he nodded, pulled back, shucked his pants and shorts, bent over the bed and prepared to let Simon work. And his eyes never left hers the whole time.

"Well, it looks okay, though you'll probably have some scars," Simon told him. It only took a couple more minutes to lay down another layer of topical antiseptic and put a new dressing over Jayne's damaged cheek. But Simon was distracted the entire time, and River knew why. Finally, as he was finishing up, he spoke it aloud. "_I_ don't think like that about every female, do I?"

River gave him a bright smile. "No." Pause. "But you're weird."

And Jayne, still angled over the bed, let out a snort of laughter. Which, again, was just what she'd been hoping to achieve.


	3. Chapter 3

He's Got a Secret

Day 3 – Pain

_(Author's note: credit where it's due to Maureen McHugh for the term "Chinglish.")_

* * *

><p>Malcolm Reynolds found himself pretty content with his lot.<p>

Two days before, he and his crew had done an honest-to-goodness good deed, helping lasso some bank robbers in New Topeka. The local sheriff who'd deputized them for the purpose had been right appreciative, too – giving them not only a plentiful reward but vouchers acceptable in the town's fruit and vegetable market. And to top it off, the sheriff was also the local brewer, and Mal struck a deal for a hundred barrels of what Simon (roped in as emergency taste-tester) called "a very smooth pilsner" – one they could probably sell for almost twice what they paid.

Long and short of it, not only did the _Serenity_ crew turn a tidy profit, but they had cargo to move, and could enjoy some real live produce with their meals for a few weeks. Almost made a man want to believe in a god, just so he'd have someone to thank.

Yep, life was looking mighty fine. They'd just cleared atmo, heading back to Persephone to move the beer and rustle up the next job. It was Kaylee's day to cook, and she'd managed to whip up some proteins and spices into what almost passed for chorizo and eggs. The ship was running smooth, no one from the Alliance appeared to be sniffing around, and Inara hadn't picked a fight in over a week. Not a cloud on the horizon.

Well, one cloud. Named "Jayne Cobb."

This morning, Jayne had been acting … squirrelly, that was the only word Mal could think of to describe it. At breakfast he'd stood to one side – not surprising, given the location of his wound – but had barely eaten, didn't say much to anyone, and was first to leave. The only times he wasn't looking straight at his plate or mug was when he made sidelong glances at River, which she didn't pay the least attention to, far as could be told. And after, he went back to his bunk and hadn't been seen since.

He just wasn't himself, that was it. All his normal bluster was gone. He was _too_ quiet – and not his usual sulking, angry quiet, but … Mal tried to think of what it compared to. It was like soldiers he'd seen in the war who were shell-shocked, like they were trying to think things through before they came back to reality. Jayne was … closed.

He shook his head; that was silly. Sure, Jayne'd gotten hit with a pretty good spray of lead, but it wasn't the worst he'd seen the big guy take. Wasn't one of the dozen worst, and usually he got ornery as a stuck bull about it. What was different this time?

"Something bothering you, Captain?" Zoe had walked up behind him.

Mal nodded. "Jayne."

"Mm. What did he do this time?"

"Nothin'."

"Nothing? That _is_ suspicious." Mal usually had trouble telling if Zoe was being sarcastic or not. By the way she walked off without another word, he guessed she was.

Well, one way or another, he should probably ask around some, see if anyone knew why Jayne was acting contrary to his usual ways. And he had a good idea where to start.

* * *

><p>River was sitting on one of the catwalks above the cargo hold with a skein of yarn, doing a cat's cradle. Only, River being River and all, it was a lot more complex than a normal cat's cradle – more like a geodesic dome.<p>

Mal sat down next to her. "River … want to ask you something."

"The father worries about his eldest son."

_Uh-oh._ It had been awhile – several weeks, at least – since he'd heard River talk like that. Mostly these days, she spoke plain English (or at least Chinglish), much to the crew's relief. If she was lapsing back into what Zoe once called "weird-speak," it was probably not good news.

Press on, soldier. "Any idea why Jayne might be acting different this morning?"

"Terrible things can be hidden in dark caves. Dangerous things."

Yep, trouble. "I don't doubt it."

"It isn't safe to drag out what lives in a dark cave. Better to wait until it seeks the light on its own."

In other words, none of your business. Only it was his ship, his crew … his business. "River, if he's planning something that could hurt _Serenity_ –"

She cut him off, speaking rapidly. "When left to themselves, things in caves are only dangerous to themselves."

Mal'd had it up to here with the metaphors. "River, you know what's going on with him. Now I want you to tell me plain – no more _fei-hua_. What is it?"

River was silent for several seconds. Then she looked him right in the eye, and said, "I will tell you. After I talk to Inara."

What did the Companion have to do with this? "Inara? Why Inara?"

She stood up. "Why, to tell her all of your inmost secrets," she replied innocently, before turning away, toward the starboard shuttle.

_Ai-ya!_ Mal hurried to catch up. "No … no, now, that's not necessa …"

River wheeled on him. The cat's cradle had now turned into what looked like a fishing net. "But you are not afraid to invade his cave. Why should she not know what is in yours?"

She had him there, Mal thought. River could blow all their covers if she wanted … but she hadn't. She'd respected their privacy as much as she was able. And he'd always said that once they were part of his crew, a person's past didn't mean a thing to him. He couldn't justify violating that rule now.

River looked up at him, knowing what he was thinking, knowing that he knew she knew. "Father, be patient with your son. He is in great pain. Let him come out into the light in his own time. And please do not ask me to drag him – or anyone in the family – out of hiding." She extended a hand, still tangled in the yarn. "Deal?"

Frustrated as he was, he knew what she was asking was perfectly reasonable. He took her hand and shook it firmly. "Deal." Then: "You fight dirty, little girl."

She sat back down on the catwalk, and grinned up at him. "Father has taught me well." Without another word, she went back to her yarn.

* * *

><p>Mal couldn't quite let it drop, yet. But other than Simon sensing some nerves, no one else had any hint as to why Jayne would be out of sorts. Finally, he decided to take River's advice – let Jayne come out with it in his own time.<p>

Which was fine until dinner. And then things got a little tetchy.

Kaylee's try at "sloppy joes" was more edible than successful, but Jayne did eat some – standing again, leaning his undamaged cheek against a counter. Still, he was unusually quiet. The table conversation had turned to the subject of fathers, which left Mal out – he had no memory of his own daddy, who'd died when he was just an infant. He just sat back and listened. "Actually, he didn't have any problem with my choice of profession," Inara said in response to a question from Zoe. "He had to talk Mother into it, though."

"You're lucky. When I told Dad I was joining the Independents, I thought he was gonna blow a gasket."

"He was pro-Alliance?" Simon asked.

"Oh, no – he just didn't want his 'little girl' in the line of fire. It wasn't until after I joined – and after the Alliance started attacking his shipping routes – that he started seeing it my way."

"When the line of fire became unavoidable."

"That's right. I bet your father was pretty passionate about the war – on the other side."

Simon nodded and rolled his eyes. "Oh yeah. Every night he was reading news dispatches to us at the dinner table – 'the brave men and women fighting for the Alliance, bringing order out of chaos and stamping out the terrorist threat!'" He shook his head. "By the end of the war, even I wasn't quite buying the propaganda. That's … part of why I wanted to become a doctor – I figured I'd rather be involved in putting people together than tearing them apart."

"He believed what he had been told," River added sadly, and Simon nodded again.

"How about you, Jayne?" Kaylee chirped.

Jayne didn't look up from his plate. "Mm?"

"You haven't told us anything about your daddy. Don't you have any stories about him?"

He glanced over at her – looking for all the universe like an animal spotting a predator – then back to his food. "Nope."

"Aw, come on," she wheedled, ignoring the warning looks from Simon and River. "I bet you got lots of fun yarns about father-son hunting trips or visits to town or some such. Tell us, won'tcha?"

Jayne set his plate and fork down on the counter, his meal only half-eaten. "Good grub," he mumbled. Then, without another word, he walked out of the room.

Everyone was silent for a spell, watching the door where he'd left. Then Kaylee jumped up. "I gotta go apologize!" She lit out after him before anyone could stop her.

"Kaylee, don't …," Simon called out.

"It's okay," River said softly.

"But … but the state he's in, he might hurt her!"

River shook her head. "He won't."

That seemed to mollify Simon – after a few seconds.

"But will she be able to help him?" Inara asked.

River sighed heavily. "She won't."

Oliver twisted up his mouth, scratched the back of his neck, then turned to River. "Lass ... d'you ken whut's wrong wi' ..."

"Don't," Mal and River said at the same time. Oliver looked from one to the other, cocked his jaw to one side, nodded and went back to eating.

The others were about to do the same when Kaylee returned. She sat back in her seat, tears running down her face.

"Are you all right?" Simon asked, alarmed.

"I told him I was sorry … I told him I didn't mean to pry … I asked him what was wrong … but he … he didn't (sniff) say a word … he didn't even look at me … he just, just kept walkin' 'til he got to his bunk and … and then he … (gulp) … he went in and … and closed the door and …" She picked up her napkin and blew her nose. Simon put an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close.

And most everyone else looked at Mal.

Mal sighed. The burden of command. "Suppose I'd better look into it." He held up a hand to River before she could speak. "I know, I know. But …" He shrugged. "Can't go on like this." And since he didn't have anything else to say, he didn't say anything, just returned to his meal. Soon, everyone else did too.

* * *

><p>Three hours later, with most everyone else bunked down for the night, Mal was outside the door to Jayne's room. Man, he hated this part of the job. But he knocked anyway.<p>

"_Gun kai!_"

"No." Mal knocked again, and waited.

Soon, he heard footfalls on the ladder, and a voice muttering something like "_hou-zi-tsao da-tiao._" Finally the door opened, but Jayne only stuck his head and shoulders out. "What?"

Mal blinked. The man looked like he hadn't slept in a month. "Need to talk to you, Jayne."

Jayne shrugged. "So talk." His voice was starting to match his face.

Mal squatted down so he could look at Jayne … well, closer to eye-to-eye. "I'm worrying about you. A lot of people are."

Jayne glared at him. "Don't." He reached for the door handle.

Mal put his hand against the door, to keep it open. "Jayne, I know something's going on with you. I don't know what, and maybe it's none of my business …"

"Ain't no maybe about it."

"… but it's making you act strange. I don't need my merc acting strange – it's unsettling to the crew."

"That's why you're worried?"

Mal waited a piece before replying. "That's part of it." It would go against everything either man stood for to come out and actually _speak_ of friendship. Living it was all shiny; talking about it wasn't. But he knew Jayne was smart enough to read between the lines.

Jayne didn't move a hair, but Mal could see his face softening. When he spoke, his voice was softer too. "There's things that happen to ya … that ya don't never want to talk about. Things ya don't want known." He took a slow, deep breath, looked away, let it go. "Bad enough one person knows, even if she ain't talkin'."

"River?"

Jayne's eyes whipped back up. "What'd she say?" he growled.

"She said she wasn't gonna tell me, unless I wanted my secrets blabbed around too." That was, when you got down to it, what River had really said.

One corner of Jayne's mouth twitched up for a second. "Don't suppose ya wanted that."

Mal smiled and shook his head. "Don't suppose I did. But …" He took a deep breath of his own before going on. "… if you _need_ to talk about it, you can."

Jayne managed to work up a sneer. It still looked tired. "With you?"

"With almost anyone on the ship, I reckon." Mal stood back up. "But I can't have you moping around all the time. Do what you gotta do – but do it. Okay?"

Jayne looked up at him for a while before grunting.

Mal took it as a yes. "All right then. 'Night." He walked off, but never heard Jayne's door clang shut behind him. Must not have been closed until he was too far away to hear it. He went up to the bridge to take over for Zoe.

The first officer turned around as he entered. "How'd it go, sir?"

Mal shrugged. "Too soon to tell." Zoe nodded and left, and Mal dropped into the pilot's chair. He looked out at the blackness of space, sprinkled with stars. "Too soon to tell …"


	4. Chapter 4

He's Got a Secret

Day 4 – Healing

_(Author's note: I'm not writing from experience here – I, mercifully, have never gone through what Jayne went through. But for all those who have, and who've survived … you are heroes.)_

* * *

><p>Jayne didn't get no sleep that night.<p>

He _hated_ tossing and turning, trying to drop off and failing, all the thoughts running round and round his head. And it wasn't usually an issue. Mama always said he could sleep through a war. Once – the time that bounty hunter Jubal Early attacked the ship, trying to get at the Doc and Moon-brain – he pretty much had.

Only problem is, when the war's inside your own noggin … well, that's different.

He'd spent a lot of time and a lot of energy putting his past behind him – way behind him. So far behind that no one could find it, and no one could shame him with it. He'd worked hard at that, _gorram _it! Only to find that he'd brought it with him, inside his head, the whole time. Damn frustrating.

'Course, even _that_ wouldn't have been a problem … 'cept it turned out he was spraying his memories all over the place. And someone came along that could tune into 'em …

"Damn you, Moon-brain," he groaned to himself. If it hadn't been for her, no one would've known nothing. Yeah, she was only trying to help, but …

Jayne glanced at his chron – 0415. He gave up trying for shuteye, and sat up – gingerly – on the edge of his bed. _Yeah, big help you were, girl. Thanks a million._

Thing was, he'd been getting to _like_ River over the last few months. She was smart and good-looking and wasn't afraid to fight … hell, that job she did on the Reavers on Miranda was a thing of beauty! They'd had their scraps, sure, but that was in the past, and it sorta seemed like she was getting to like him too. Even the last few days, when she discovered his secret, she hadn't made fun of him or run off screaming – she'd stood strong, stood up to him. Most women wouldn't've hung around, let alone yelled back. Had to respect that.

The more Jayne thought about it, the more it seemed to mean. She knew – she who'd said she could kill him with her brain, and probably could – and she didn't run …

Pieces of conversations ran through his mind. River in the sick bay: _you're safe here_ … Mal last night: _if you need to talk about it, you can_ … River again: _you're a grown man, act like it_ ...

So what was he supposed to do? Everyone on the ship knew something was up with him – if they hadn't known, the scene he'd made at dinner last night would've clued 'em in. Well, now what? Was he just supposed to … to tell 'em all, bare his soul and air out his shame in front of 'em? He hated the thought of that – all this time, trying to show 'em what a strong man he was, how he could handle anything. Damned if he was gonna reduce himself to some scared little kid just 'cause …

… 'cause deep inside, part of him still was a scared little kid.

Jayne sighed wearily. Well, that was the _gorram_ heart of it, now, wasn't it? He could handle any gun you handed him better than the guys who built it, could floor just about any man with two swings of his fists, could deal with whatever situation a cruel universe wanted to sling at him and then bed two women once he was finished. But there was that hurting kid, living in fear of the night, wishing Mama were there to protect him, wanting Daddy to just _qing zou_ and leave him the hell alone …

He looked down at his hands. They were shaking, death-gripping the edge of the bed, his knuckles white …

"GAAHH!" he bellowed, leaping up to pace the floor. His right hand went to his hair to pull at it, his left curled into a fist to beat against his thigh. Why couldn't things be different? Why couldn't Moon-brain have kept her pretty mouth shut? Why couldn't everyone just leave him be? Why couldn't Mama … why couldn't Daddy … why couldn't …

The words that popped into his head now were from Big Murph: _son, ain't no point in playin' coulda-shoulda-woulda – past ain't gonna change no matter how much thinkin' ya do on it. Just do whatcha got to do _now_, that's the way ya make it …_

So what now?

So what now? Good question. Would be a lot shinier to have an answer, though.

Well, he wasn't gonna get no sleep, and today was his day to cook, so he might as well get an early start on that. Maybe making coffee would give him an idea ...

* * *

><p>Which it did … well, sorta.<p>

Jayne put in more grounds than usual, figuring if nobody else needed it strong, he did. Even if the coffee they had _was_ about one-third dandelion leaves, it could still pack a punch. He'd have to remember to warn Kaylee to cut it with some water, or she'd be bouncing off the bulkheads all day. As for breakfast in general … those baskets of blueberries put him in mind of blueberry pancakes. He could whip up a mean pancake – he used to make 'em all the time when he was a kid. Marcy loved 'em, and Daddy …

All the memories came flooding back. He gritted his teeth, leaned against the counter and did his level best to not throw something –

"Don't be afraid."

The voice was soft, but he still almost jumped out of his skin. River. Of course. Silently walking round on bare feet, as usual. He let out his breath. "Y'know, girl, maybe we oughta hang a bell round yer neck so you won't be sneakin' up on folks."

"With rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, she will have music wherever she goes," River recited, then did a little spin in the doorway.

Jayne couldn't help it – he smiled. Among other reasons, he liked watching her spin.

"But really, don't be afraid."

Her words cut past his defenses, and he spoke before he could stop himself. "But how?"

"Just … don't." And off she went.

Jayne stared at the empty doorway as the anger inside him built – and then disappeared. Because suddenly he got it. _Just don't._ _Choose_ not to be afraid, the same as when he was in a firefight. The same as when he turned on his old gang to join Mal's crew. The same as when he'd walked to the police station that afternoon, Daddy's gun still in his hand …

"_Duan ran_," he muttered to himself. "I can do that …" He didn't need no solution, no plan – at least not yet. He just needed to not be afraid, start firing and see what happened. Story of his life, really.

And he needed to get cracking on those pancakes, or he'd never get 'em done before the rest of the crew woke up.

* * *

><p>"These," Inara said around a mouthful of pancake, "are really good." She pointed at her plate with a fork.<p>

"Delicious," Simon added, reaching with his own fork to spear another one off the plate in the middle of the table. Other folks agreed.

"Thanks," Jayne grunted. He took the last bite on his plate. They had come out pretty good at that.

The table went back to being silent. It was almost as if they were waiting for him to talk. Who knows, maybe they were …

… _don't be afraid … you're safe here …_ _just do whatcha got to do _now_, that's the way ya make it …_

"So, uh … so I know ya all been wonderin' what's been makin' ol' Jayne act so surly lately. Well, I know one of ya ain't wonderin', 'cause she knows." He glanced at River, who was conspicuously making a fist with her right hand, as if to say, _be strong_. "An' I don't know how ya might take it if I tell ya … or whether it's right to tell a story like this right after a meal … but …" He took a deep breath, let it out. "But I'm findin' I have need to tell it, get it off my chest, so … so if ya don't wanna hear it, ya can just go an' I won't hold it against ya or nothin'."

Nobody moved.

Jayne looked up at the ceiling. "Same goes for you, Ollie. Ya can tune me out if ya want."

"I'm in, lad," Oliver's brogue came from the speaker. "Say what ye mean ta."

Jayne nodded. He fiddled with his fork before going on, staring at his empty plate the whole while. "See, I was raised on Dixie Two. Daddy was a sharecropper. Mama did laundry to help out, an' Daddy'd go huntin' to put meat on the table. An' put cheap whisky in his belly. Daddy'd get to drinkin', an' he'd come home an' pick a fight with Mama and hit her. And that was life for me an' Marcy – my little sister.

"I guess Mama was getting' fed up for a while, but didn't know what to do 'bout it. Final straw was when she was, I guess, eight months along with Mattie – Matthew, my brother – and Daddy hit her so bad the baby dropped early. He made it, but … well, he's been a sickly boy to this day. Mama's parents, Gramma Vestal an' Grampa Orville, visited her in the hospital, an' when they found out what was goin' on they put their foot down. Mama never came home. Gramma an' Grampa took her and Mattie home with 'em to Dixie One, an' left word to me an' Marcy through Mrs. Johanson the town schoolteacher that they'd come back for us when they could. I was nine years old. Marcy was six.

"But they never could. Daddy was _biao xiu_ about Gramma an' Grampa takin' Mama an' the baby, an' he got 'em charged with kidnappin'. Dixie One an' Dixie Two weren't talkin' to each other at that point, so it never got enforced – but Gramma an' Grampa were blocked from comin' for us. They kept sendin' messages through Mrs. Johanson, and so did Mama, but that's all they could do.

"An' meanwhile …"

Jayne paused to sigh and rub his forehead before getting to the tough part. Nobody else made a sound.

"… an' meanwhile, Daddy decided he needed to find a new wife. But he didn't have no money or land, and the womenfolk in the village had heard what happened to Mama so they didn't want no part of him. Even the whores wouldn't go with him, or so I'm told. Still … still, he decided he was gonna have himself a wife. An' …" He swallowed hard. "An' he decided it was gonna be me."

To his right, he heard Kaylee sob, once. To his left, Inara gasped.

"And that's the way it was. For five years. He didn't beat me … well, not any more than he always had. But whenever he wanted to … take his pleasure, he bent me over the side of the bed an' took it." Across the table, Simon groaned. "Weren't nothing I could really do at the time – he was as big as I am now, an' I was … well, I was nine years old.

"But I kept growin'. An' so did Marcy. An' when she was eleven she started becomin' a woman an' all, an' he decided she was gonna be his wife too." He swallowed hard. "An' I was _not_ gonna let that happen.

"I knew I weren't big enough to take him – I was bigger than I'd been, but I still weren't bigger than him. An' I knew there was nowhere I could go to for help. An' I had been out huntin' with Daddy a few times, so I could load some of his guns. That afternoon when Daddy grabbed Marcy an' took her in the other room, I knew what I had to do. I went an' loaded up his automatic, eight bullets, an' I busted into the room and said, 'you leave Marcy be!'

"An' I'll never forget it. I weren't five feet away from 'em. Daddy had Marcy pinned on the bed. Her clothes were every which way, an' she had her head turned toward me with this frightened look on her face, like an animal that's been trapped. His pants were down round his ankles. An' he just looked at me with this look, like … like I was a squashed bug on the floor. I said it again – 'you leave Marcy be!' An' he … sneered at me, an' said, 'you ain't gonna do nothin', boy. You ain't man enough.' An' he went to climb on top of Marcy, an' I pointed that automatic at his head an' pulled the trigger. An' I kept pullin' it 'til it went click."

Except for Jayne's breathing, the galley was more silent than the vacuum outside the hull.

"Marcy ran up half-nekkid and hugged me, an' she was yellin', 'thank you, you saved me, you saved me!' I was half-deaf from the noise of the gun, an' we was both splattered with Daddy's blood an' brains. I told Marcy to button up an' go run to Mrs. Johanson's house an' tell her all that happened, an' to tell Mrs. Johanson to get a message to Mama an' Gramma an' Grampa. An' she did, an' I walked to the police an' turned myself in. Told 'em everything.

"They said they'd take into account my age an' the … circumstances. But I'd still killed a man. So I got three years. They didn't have no juvenile prison, so I had to go to the grown men's one.

"Prison weren't so bad – nothin' happened to me there that was any worse than what Daddy had done, an' I was growin' fast so pretty soon no one tried to mess with me at all. There was a fella there named Big Murph who'd knocked over a few stagecoaches, an' he an' I started watchin' each other's backs. He told me about the things he'd done, an' how I could make a life for myself once I got out if I was big an' good with a gun, an' not picky about my employers. Treated me kinda like a son – what a son's supposed to be treated like, I mean.

"Before I was released, Big Murph told me I should look up some old friends of his. By then, I was big enough an' looked _bu-sheng-men-qi-de_ enough that he thought I might find some work with 'em. First one I found asked who sent me to him, an' I told him Big Murph. He asked if I could handle guns. I said yeah, I could. Asked what I did to land in jail, an' I just told him I shot my Daddy eight times in the head – I wanted to make sure the guy thought I was tough enough." Jayne smiled ruefully and shook his head. "Worked – he hired me on the spot, an' the next day we robbed an Alliance shuttle an' made off with a quarter-ton of protein concentrate.

"That was almost twenty years ago, an' I been doin' the same thing ever since, pretty much. Most of the money, I send to Mama and Marcy. I dunno if they really need it – Mama's got her own laundry business, an' Marcy – well, she's kinda in yer line of work, Inara." Jayne turned to the Companion sitting next to him. It was the first time during the whole speech that he'd looked anywhere but down.

Irana's eyebrows went up. "She's a Registered Courtesan?"

"Yep."

Inara looked around the table, and saw a lot of blank stares. "The Courtesan program was set up by the Companions' Guild to train women who can't afford the full coursework to become a Companion, or can't leave their families to attend a Companion academy. It covers a lot of the same material, but without most of the ceremonial aspects … oh, I'm sorry, Jayne – I should let you finish …"

"That's all right, I was more or less done," Jayne replied. He was back to staring at his fork again. "Like I said, they prob'ly don't need me to send 'em money. But I send it anyway, as much as I can get my hands on. I guess to prove to myself that I can provide for 'em, that … that I'm man enough." He sighed. "Maybe that's what I've been doin' all this time. Tryin' to show my Daddy he was wrong 'bout me …" He trailed off.

It was quiet for a long time after that. No one said nothing, except for the odd sniffle from Kaylee.

Of all people, it was Simon who spoke first. "I, for one, would say you've succeeded. You _have_ proved him wrong." Kaylee smiled through her tears and hugged Simon's arm, hard.

Zoe nodded. "You're more a man than he ever was." A few others made noises agreeing with her.

One of them was Mal. "I know you and I have had our disagreements, Jayne. But I've never questioned your manhood, and I dare say I never will."

Oliver's voice came through the speaker. "Thut ye've survoived all ye've been through, lad – and come oot a dacent human bein' – makes ye aces in moi book." More nods and uh-huhs.

Then River, expressionless, stood up and walked around the table to Jayne.

"River! Wha-a?" Simon went to stop her.

But he couldn't. Kaylee had his arm and was holding him in place. "River said not to let you move," she hissed in his ear.

Simon settled down, but watched his sister with worried eyes.

River stood over Jayne for several seconds, her hands at her sides, just looking at him. Jayne had been starting to relax – his worst fear having not come to pass – but looking back at her, he felt himself tensing up again, wondering what she had planned …

Then River gently put her hands on either side of his face – and kissed him, hard and long.

Jayne heard a strangling sound from across the table (Simon choking, most like) and a bemused snort (not sure if it was Inara or Zoe) but otherwise, his attention was fully got for as long as her lips were on his. Only when she pulled away was he able to think clearly. "Uh … w-why'dja do that?"

River smiled – no, smirked. "Wanted to. Not a problem, I hope."

Jayne smiled back. "Um, nope. Not a problem at all."

"Jayne Cobb," Mal said, a chuckle in his voice. "Are you blushing?"

Jayne didn't look at him. He preferred what he was already looking at. "Go suck vacuum, sir," he replied, still smiling. So this is what healing up, _really_ healing up deep down, felt like, he thought. Could take some getting used to, but he kinda liked it.

END (for now …)


End file.
